The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

It felt incredible.

So different than the other times we’d done this. And that made sense because this was the opposite of our carefully designed sessions. Those scenes had been deliberate, planned to each detail, whereas what we were doing now was hurried and mindless.

No, worse.

It was thoughtless.

E’s thrusts were just as demanding as his kisses, and my bare skin squealed against the polished wood floor as he drove into me. Even when his mouth wasn’t on mine, his lips didn’t stray from my skin. They roved over my cheekbone, down the curve of my neck, and wandered to my breasts. It was like he loved the taste of me and couldn’t get enough of it.

His hips beat against me as his body pumped into mine, and my hands played over the muscles of his chest and arms. While his insistent mouth explored, I reveled in touching him.

Trapped under the heat of him, it took no time for my skin to become slippery with sweat. It was hard for him to get traction with his knees since his jeans cut across his thighs, so as we writhed and thrashed, we inched along the floor.

His groans of satisfaction filled my ear, and I raked my nails down his powerful back until I could clench a hand on his ass. I loved feeling the flex of him as he drove into me, and my hold, plus my legs wrapped around his, helped keep me from shifting too much.

Because the angle was just right.

Tingles began in my center, and goosebumps lifted on my arms. My heart raced along. All the warning signs of my orgasm were there, but it lingered frustratingly just out of reach. Maybe all the edging before had made my body reluctant and defensive.

I was too desperate and frantic to see any other reason for why my orgasm was being so elusive.

The sex was so aggressive, it was taxing on both of us, and I sensed his confusion on why he hadn’t been able to push me over the edge. He’d done all the things right. He was thick and hard, pushing deep inside me with a punishing rhythm that should have made my toes curl and my eyes roll back into my head.

And it wasn’t like it didn’t feel good. It felt amazing.

But it had felt amazing since the moment he’d gotten inside me, and this sustained high point had become a plateau.

So, I drew one of my knees up, and urged him to let me hook it over his shoulder. It allowed him to slip even deeper, past the point of comfort for me, and I welcomed the sensation.

His eyes widened and then hooded with pleasure. When he slowed and ground himself against me, he gauged my reaction carefully. Or maybe he was trying to even himself out and make it last.

“Oh, fucking yes,” I groaned.

The aching fullness of him was just enough to break up my plateau and I finally crossed the threshold. I came in a rush, shuddering all around him, and he smothered my cry of pleasure under a devouring kiss. Like he wanted to drink in my moans.

The connection of our mouths went unbroken as he came too. The muscles beneath my hands solidified into rock, making him jerk to a stop, and the rhythmic pulses inside flooded me with heat. I sighed in enjoyment at the sensation.

My orgasm had been short, and evaporated from my body nearly as quickly, and as the man over me went still, déjà vu descended on me. Like yesterday, my release had only given me temporary satisfaction. There was a large part of me that wasn’t satiated.

It left me feeling incomplete. Like I’d been treating a symptom but not the underlying cause.

Instead of warming as he usually did afterward, tension gripped E and it was cold.

“Shit.” His tone was pure dread. “We didn’t use . . . I forgot to—”

Oh. Well, that was another reason why it’d felt so different. I’d completely lost my head about using a condom, and he had too. His gaze was on me, but his eyes were unfocused, and I squeezed his arm to bring him back and assure him.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m on the pill, and I’m safe.”

It took him a moment to process and he relaxed with a sigh, melting into the crook of my neck. “Me too, I swear.” He planted a kiss at the spot where my pulse pounded. “Fuck,” he whispered, “I can’t believe I did that.”

Did he mean forgetting the condom . . . or was he talking about the sex we’d just had?

“Yeah,” I said.

Icy slush seeped through my veins, making me cold all over. What the fuck had I just done? No, that was a stupid question. I knew exactly what I’d done. My betrayal would shatter all the trust I’d built up with Clay, and I’d destroyed this incredible partnership.